Sword of Ice and Other Tales of Valdemar v(-100

by Mercedes Lackey

  Revyn settled himself in a private grotto in the garden, the one farthest from the buildings, and pulled the two letters, each with the seal of Hold Elann, from the front of his tunic. Even though he had been receiving these letters roughly every month since he had come to Haven, each time he opened them his heart raced in anticipation.

  My dear son,

  It is good to hear that you have learned so much in your time in Haven. Perhaps soon you can return to us. Your brother Myndal seems to have come to terms with your leaving, as he allows us to write to you openly now. If you come back to us, surely he would respect your skills with your professional training.

  Your sister writes you as well, so I will not speak to you of her, save that she misses you greatly. We are all well here in Hold Elann, though we miss your music. Myndal begins to speak of finding a wife and raising children to carry on the mastery of Elann. He hopes for a daughter of one or another of the nearby landowners. Young Aislynn, whom you surely remember, grows ever prettier. If you were to return soon, before someone else snatches her up, I think the two of you could make a match of it.

  The dogs are well, though Tygris is aging. I fear she has raised her last batch of pups this summer, for she will likely not survive the coming winter. I run out of paper, and so I close with best wishes for your continued health and hope that you return soon, the Bard I always knew you could be. '

  Your loving Mother

  Revyn bit his lip, wishing that there were some way he could tell his family what his situation truly was. How could he say that he was no longer a Bardic student? That he was now in the Healer's Collegium? Chylla would be so disappointed. She had always wanted him to compose a song for her when he tried to reach Master Bard rank. She wanted him to write a ballad about Val-demar, a song that put everything that was best about their homeland into words. On his journey to Haven he had begun a draft of it, but ever since that interview with Bard Keryn he had tried to forget about it, the sheets of paper covered with his brief notations buried in the back of his desk.

  His mind flashed back to that day Keryn had spoken with him, only a few weeks after he had come to Haven and been brought from an inn to the Bardic Collegium by Keryn herself.

  "Revyn, you'll make a superb Minstrel, better than most even here in Haven. You're one of the most talented students we've ever had. But I'm afraid that you don't have the Bardic Gifts. Some of us think that you might be Gifted in Healing, however, and . . . Revyn, I'm sorry," Keryn had said softly.

  The hurt of hearing Keryn's words still tasted bitter in his mouth, even months later. She had tried to be kind, tried to tell him about his Healing Talent, but it had all added up to the same thing. He could never be a Bard. Those first few weeks of living and studying in the Bardic Collegium had easily been the happiest time of his life. Hearing Keryn affirm his worst doubts and fears had torn his joy away from him, leaving an aching empty spot where his long-cherished dream of being a Bard had been, a spot he had thought could not be filled. And then Eser had come and taken him to the House of Healing....

  Revyn brought his mind back to the present with a quick mental shake, avoiding the thought of being a Healer as he had tried to avoid it for the past year. He broke the seal on the second letter with a smile, thinking of his fair-haired sister, and her laughter that sounded like summer's golden sunshine would.

  Revy— Oh, how I miss you still. Hold Elann isn't the same without you. You probably said that when Minstrel Des died, didn't you? Well, now I know how you feel. Did Mother tell you? Myndal is letting us write you openly. Maybe that means you can come back soon.

  Speaking of Myndal, that oaf actually thinks he can find a girl stupid enough to marry him. He tried for Aislynn, but she had too much sense for him. Besides, she told me she wanted to wait for you to come back. Even though she's two years older than me, she doesn't act like it, and we're still friends.

  1 think Myndal also wants to set up a marriage for me, it being as I'm getting to be old enough. Think of it, Revy, your Chylla the matron of a household—at fourteen and a half! Sometimes I can't think of it for laughing. I hope he goes to Hold Gellan. Edouard, the younger son, is unmarried and only a few years older than you are, so he's not too old for me. And he's handsome, too!

  Your horse misses you, the dogs miss you (Tygris has faded in health ever since you left), Mother misses you, and I miss you most of all. I hope you get to Journeyman rank soon, so you can come to see us.

  Love and hugs, your own Chylla

  Revyn leaned back against the sun-warmed stone of the grotto, closed his eyes, and smiled, laughing with his merry sister. He could see her now, just the way she had been on the day he told her he was leaving Hold Elann.

  "But what will Mother and I do without you?" Her lips were quivering, and she bit them so hard he was sure she would cut them. She looked at the ground then, turning away from him so he wouldn't see her tears.

  "You'll have to take care of Mother for me, Chylla. You know how hurt she'll be when you tell her where I've gone." He smiled and gently touched her thin shoulders. She turned abruptly back to him, taking a deep breath.

  "Take me with you, Revy. Please. I can cut my hair.

  You can tell the traders I'm your little brother. Please don't leave me here, not alone with Myndal."

  "Better that you stay with Mother," he had answered gravely. "Mother will need you more than you will need me. Besides," he said, smiling cheerily, "I'll come back for you, little one. You know I will, and everything will be fine."

  If only she could be here with him now, everything would be fine. She would understand about him being a Healer if she just saw him, if he could just talk to her and show her how he felt, but he didn't know how he could write it to her. It seemed to him that to tell his family would make everything just that much more final. Telling them that he wouldn't be a Bard would mean that he would have to give up his dream and become a Healer.

  "You know you want to be a Healer, too," came the insistent voice in his head, the second self that chose times like this to scold him. This time, however, he didn't slap it away as he would a biting gnat. "You have Talent. You know it, Eser knows it, the rest of the Healers know it, too. You're just afraid."

  Revyn thought about that one for a while. What would I be afraid of? he asked himself.

  "You're afraid of losing your last hope of being a Bard. As long as you stay in the House of Healing without making any progress in using your Healing Talent, there's a chance that a Bardic Gift might show up. If you become a full Healer, you might have to leave Haven, and you couldn't continue your musical studies like you have been. Like Eser and Keryn have indulgently allowed you to."

  The voice was a sting of conscience, sharply reminding him of how ungrateful he had been to those who were trying to help him and teach him. He squirmed suddenly, trying to avoid his self-recrimination. But the voice, once unleashed, refused to be fettered again.

  "You know it's just your own pride. Keryn said you could be a good Minstrel—and you already are one, even if it is 'just' around the circle of other Healing students.

  And a Healer who can play music to soothe and calm the nerves is a rare thing. You're just too stubborn to accept that. You won't accept being anything less than the best, anything less than what you decided you had to be without even knowing what you could and couldn't be. You—"

  Enough! he "shouted" at the voice, squelching it into silence. You've made your point. Leave me alone for a while. I just need to think, to figure out what I want.

  Some weeks later, Revyn hurried down the hallway of the House of Healing ahead of Eser, anxious to get to young Seldi's room for a few quick minutes of conversation in the course of the morning rounds. The boy's broken leg had been healing well, and Revyn expected that Eser would soon allow the lad to return to his family's holding with his older brother, who had arrived in Haven this day to fetch him.

  "Good morning, Seldi," he said cheerfully as he entered the room, smiling at the fir
st patient he had ever treated on his own.

  "Hi, Revyn," the younger boy said, grinning. "I hear my brother's come t' pick me up. 'S it true? Will I be goin' home soon?"

  Revyn glanced in mock warning at the door. "I wouldn't say that too loudly when you know Healer Eser is coming. He's liable to keep you here just to dash your hopes."

  Eser smiled at the sound of the two boys' laughter as he entered the sickroom.

  "Well, Seldi, how do you feel today?"

  "I'm itchin' t' go home, Healer Eser, sir. I hear m'brother has come t' fetch me."

  "He has, and he'll be in to see you soon. But it seems you might not be getting away from us for good, after all."

  Revyn shot Seldi a quick "I-told-you-so" look, then turned his attention to what the Master Healer was saying.

  "You, my boy, have a slight Talent for Healing. Not

  enough to make you a Master Healer, so don't worry about being trapped in my job," Eser said, smiling at his own expense. "But what you have, if trained, would be very useful back on the farm to help with the livestock and small injuries."

  "What, me, a Healer?" Seldi gaped at Eser, eyes wide with disbelief.

  "Yes, in certain things, if you choose to come back when you're a little older, for training. You probably wouldn't be strong enough to save lives, but you could save a good deal of the pain from small things—the little hurts that you get often enough on a farm. And you could learn to set legs, too."

  "In case anyone else is fool enough t' go climbin' the crag so soon after the first snow, y'mean?" Seldi grinned.

  "Something like that," Eser smiled. "Would you like to be able to do that?"

  "Would I! Ma 'n' Da are allus sayin' how much we need a Healer down nearer t' the village—we can't allus be runnin' t' Haven. An' if I could take care of what we need, well, that'd save us time and gold. Sure I'd come back!"

  Eser smiled again at Seldi's infectious enthusiasm.

  "Well, then, we'll just have a look at your leg and I'll talk with your brother and we'll see if we can get you sent off home to finish knitting up that bone." He turned and nodded at Revyn, who slipped quietly into his accustomed place beside the cot, lifting the blankets and laying his hands gently over the bandages.

  Carefully, he let his mind sink into the leg, beneath the bandages and the splint, until he could See the white of the bone buried deep within the flesh. The joining of the two pieces was a complete, though fragile, network Of bone and ligaments. The break had healed straight and clean. He withdrew his awareness and looked up at Eser, nodding slightly.

  "It's clean," he said quietly. Eser bent down and touched the leg briefly, checking Revyn's Sight against his own, and nodded back at his student.

  "Well, Seldi, you're doing fine. I'll just have a word

  with your brother and we can send you home in good health. Mind you don't try walking too soon, now, or you might bend the bone."

  "Thank you, Healer Eser, sir," Seldi murmured breathlessly. "I'll be back before you know't."

  Eser slipped out the door, leaving Revyn alone with the younger boy.

  "I'm t' be a Healer like Eser an' like you, Revyn. Can you believe't?"

  Revyn grinned at his friend, sharing his delight.

  "Who'd've thought this would come of me breakin* me leg tryin' t' get me Mum the last Of the ferril flowers?"

  "Was that what you were doing, Seldi? You never said."

  "Oh, aye, a stupid enough thing, eh? I allus promise t' pick the last ferril flowers I can find for me Mum, and I hadn't gone and got 'em this year. So after the first snow, I decided to take a last look up the crag t' see if'n I could find some. When the snow started again, Teral came up to look for me, an' we both went down in that rockfall." Seldi became quiet and looked down at the blanket, absently picking at its weave.

  "Well, you never can tell when good'll come to you, right?" Revyn asked cheerily, standing and heading toward the door to join Eser and continue the morning session.

  "Nay. Sometimes, good comes even when you don't get what you want—or when you don't even get what you promised yourself an' somebody else, too."

  Revyn turned suddenly, staring at Seldi in shock. Sometimes, good comes even when you don't get what you want, he repeated to himself. Havens, I think I must be the fool here. Seldi's climbing the crag to pick flowers for his mother is no stupider than what I've been doing here for the past year.

  He smiled and said his farewells to the young boy without really paying attention to what he was doing, his mind still repeating what the lad had said. Without even knowing it, Seldi had done more for him than a year of Eser's teachings.

  Passing into the hallway, Revyn nearly ran into the Master Healer, who was just returning, a tall strapping youth with a striking resemblance to Seldi following in his wake.

  "Ah, Revyn, there you still are. I will just take Derem in to see his brother and we can finish visiting our patients. I know you'll be in a hurry now."

  Revyn gave his teacher a questioning glance and saw the smile crinkling the corner's of Eser's eyes.

  "I have letters for you from Elann," he said, opening the door to Seldi's room and gesturing for the other boy to enter, then going in after him.

  Revyn stared at the closing door, then turned and hastened down the hall to the next occupied sickroom, not even bothering to wait for Eser to finish talking to Seldi.

  Revyn took the two letters from Eser's hand and hurried out to the garden, ignoring the midwinter cold. He always read letters from home in the privacy of what he had come to consider "his" grotto, bad weather notwithstanding.

  Brushing the snow off of the small bench, he sat down and studied the envelopes. The first he recognized as his mother's handwriting, and he expected the second to be from Chylla.

  Revyn nearly dropped the second letter in surprise when he saw that the second letter was addressed in the awkward, blocky script of his brother. Why hadn't Chylla written him? Why would Myndal, of all people, write to him? He decided to read Myndal's letter first— it would surely be the shorter, and would probably only be a tirade against him anyway.

  Revyn—

  Your sister took sick a fortnight ago, going outside in the snow like the fool she was. She said she was going to find you, but I think she was running away from the decent marriage I had arranged for

  her. Anyway, she took sick real badly after we found her and brought her back. She died last week at a candlemark before midnight. I thought you ought to know, but we don't expect you back soon, so we buried her right away.

  Myndal

  Hot tears flooded from Revyn's eyes as he read the last lines, trying to force his mind to accept them. Chylla, his beloved golden sister—gone! No, it wasn't true. It couldn't be true. Gods, why Chylla? Why couldn't it have been—he stopped that thought before it completely formed. No. He couldn't wish death on anyone, even Myndal. Healers weren't allowed—again, he stopped his thoughts before he touched that which he feared and wanted so much. He folded the page before his tears splotched the ink beyond legibility, tucking it absently into his tunic. Hurt raged inside him as his mind cried her name in agony.

  Long minutes later, he broke the seal of his mother's letter and slowly unfolded it.

  My poor, dear son—

  / weep as I write this, weep for your poor sister, and weep for your foolish brother. Ah, if the gods only knew how I suffered. I am sure Myndal has told you what has happened, but I doubt me that he told you all. He had arranged a disagreeable marriage for poor Chylla, wanting to wed her to a rich man my own father's age, simply to combine our lands. I could do nothing to stop his plans, nor could your poor sister. Ah, me, how foolish I was. I should have dissuaded her from her attempt to flee to you. She left just before a great storm came up. Myndal was furious and set out with hounds and men after her. They brought her back half-frozen and sick. The fever set in, and Myndal refused to send for any Healers, saying Chylla would be fine and that she deserved a little sickness for her disobed
ience. I sent for the herb-healer, but she was

  helpless. Finally, Myndal sent to Hold Gellan, for they have a full Healer, but by then it was too late. Ah, poor Chylla. My heart grieves for her, my son, as it does for you. As soon as you are able, come home to me, for I fear I need you more than ever. Your ever-loving

  Mother

  Revyn's tears began again, but this time he felt awash in a feeling of guilt. If only he hadn't stayed to be trained and to continue his Bardic schooling. If only he'd gone home when he knew he couldn't be a Bard, Chylla would still be alive. He could have stopped Myndal from marrying her off to an old weakling. He could have helped her. He should have brought her to Haven with him. He should have— A sudden thought struck him, and he turned back to the letter. Yes, his mother had said that Myndal had refused to get a Healer until it was too late. Gods, his fault again!

  He'd been resisting the Healers, holding back on his training, trying to give any Bardic Gift at all as much chance to emerge as possible, hoping against hope that he could still be a Bard. If he had taken the training as it had come, maybe he could have been home, and if Chylla had gotten sick anyway, he could have Healed her. He had a strong enough Gift, he now knew that instinctively. Now he accepted it, now that it was too late for Chylla. Twice and three times a fool! Twice and three times his fault!

  He tucked his mother's letter next to the other inside his tunic, folded his arms across his knees, bent his head down, and wept furiously, shaking with sobs as he reviled himself for his stupidity. He grieved for his sister and blamed himself for his grief. The tears soaked the arms of his winter cloak, chilling him as the snow seeped into his bones, but he didn't care. Chylla was dead, and it was all his doing. Nothing would ever matter again, not without Chylla there for him.

  Much later, Revyn was only vaguely aware of Eser and some other Healers running toward him with blan-

  kets. They snatched him up and brought him in, warming him and giving him the Healing teas that he had so often helped to brew. Thoughts of Chylla raced through his fevered mind, until finally he slept.